I am a crier. I always have been. Do not attempt to sit near me when an ASPCA commercial comes on with a shivering dog stuck out in the cold. I am incapable of watching shows like “Cops” or worse yet “Intervention” or most documentaries on addiction or generally any hardship without my eyes welling up with tears for a minimum of a month after seeing it. I cry if someone announces their divorce and I cry doubly if I went to their wedding.
Crying though, is looked down upon. It is seen as unprofessional in the workplace and a sign of weakness both there and in almost any other arena. I have cried because I was tired, because I was frustrated, because I was ashamed and on a handful of occasions, because life was so beautiful and sweet it actually moved me to tears.
Tonight, I executed the perfect roasted chicken (tears – I am clearly a domestic goddess). When I was cleaning up the kitchen (tears – I am so fortunate to be able to feed my family a nutritious and delicious meal every night) I listened to Hipster Radio (tears – Ray Lamontagne’s “You are the Best Thing”). Then Amy Winehouse’s cover of “Valerie” came on and do I even have to say it? Okay, I will say it – (tears, because why did someone so talented slip through so many people’s fingers’ and succumb to addiction?). I should add two things, yes, of course I am hormonal and also, if I wasn’t I would still think these are ALL acceptable reasons to cry.
I forget that my poor husband grew up in a house made up mostly of males. I am not quick to slap gender roles on people but I feel like he made it through his first nineteen years of life with a bit less crying than the last seventeen, and definitely the last six to eight. Though he isn’t harsh when he says it, I can see the slightly quizzical look on his face when one of us three girls is crying and he tries in vain to interject that maybe, possibly this is not something to cry about.
Tonight, as I was wiping down the counters, he came in to the kitchen to say how much he appreciated everything that I do. (This would be a good time to let you know that he asks to help out in cleaning the kitchen and if I am super tired I take him up on it, but I am a kitchen control-freak and I like to do it my way or I might karate chop at him because what kind of monster uses the spray feature of the sink to clean a lasagna pan?!?. Sigh. I am a work in progress.). Anyway, I waited until I took out the trash to cry fresh tears again, because that was a perfect thing to say and for the record all I ever need to hear is “I see you. I hear you. You matter to me. I appreciate you.” (I mean, he can change up the order if he wants, I am not trying to micromanage or anything but I would be hard pressed to think of more loving words to hear than that from a partner). I beg to differ with him. Because all of that stuff? It is all life and life can be heartbreaking and unnoticeable and soul crushing and glorious all at once. It is all something to cry about it.